Translator: Tamami Nakai Reviewer: Claire Ghyselen
When we travel, that is, those of us privileged enough to travel,
we usually pack two types of things.
In Japanese, they're referred to as "mono" and "koto."
Mono is used for physical, tangible things
like clothes and deodorant and toothpaste,
while koto is used for intangible things like thoughts and feelings and ideas.
Unpacking mono is a pretty straightforward process.
You open your suitcase, and you remove the items inside, and you sort them out.
You put your shirts there, pants there, toiletries over there.
Then move on to the next bag, and repeat as necessary.
While unpacking koto is a more complicated, more involved process,
and the person who enters into this process maybe very different
from the person who emerges from this process.
Now some people believe that human beings are incapable of change.
And for the most part, I agree.
If a person never has the chance
to question and examine their core beliefs about the world
and, more importantly, about themselves,
chances are they won’t change.
But living in a fundamentally foreign environment
often forces us to confront deeply embedded thoughts and feelings and ideas.
And once we’ve done that, I believe that change is not only possible,
it’s inevitable.
Koto usually comes into play when we venture outside of our sphere of comfort.
Otherwise, we probably don’t notice it much.
I mean, you probably heard yourself say,
“Phew, thank God I brought my mittens because it’s awfully cold out there!”
But probably you never heard yourself say,
“Phew, thank God I packed my moral superiority!
(Laughter)
Because these people -"
So, let's talk a little about koto.
We carry it around with us all day every day.
We keep it in our hearts, in our minds, in our souls.
And though it's heavy, the weight is dispersed in such a way
that we usually don’t pay it much mind until we unpack it.
Case in point:
When I first came to Japan, I only intended to stay here for one year.
But three years later,
I was still here, and I decided that I was going to stay here.
At that time, I was working at this big franchised English school in Tokyo.
And at this school,
they had a special room where students and instructors could go
and talk about any topic under the sun.
This one day, I was there with these three Japanese students,
and these three students,
they loved to talk about the differences between Americans and Japanese.
This is their favorite topic.
Personally, I hated this topic.
Mostly because the students would always express their ideas and opinions
that rarely reflected the America that I grew up in.
And they would assert these opinions with authority -
to me, the only American in the room.
And this day was no different, at first.
The students had a lot to say about America,
some of it was quite critical.
Now, usually, when students became critical about my country,
I would hear them out, nod and smile.
(Japanese) The client is king!
So I'd nod and smile, but this was all before I came to this decision
that Japan was my home,
and this decision was key
because up until that point, I had no real skin in the game.
I was having a bal.
Japan was this great big amusement park.
Believe me, I was very, very much amused,
but this decision changed all of that.
I began to see myself differently.
I no longer saw myself as a patriot at this amusement park.
Now, I began to see myself and my country
as attractions at this Japanese amusement park.
As you might imagine, I was no longer amused.
So, I don't know if those students knew at that point,
but I definitely knew that the next critical remark that came out their mouths
about my country [inaudible] -
Let's just say my nodding and smiling days were over.
This feeling, this koto, it wasn’t nationalism or patriotism.
If I had suddenly become a nationalist or patriot,
those students would have to call an ambulance
to carry them out of there on a stretcher.
But the reason I left America was not because I hate America.
It was mostly because I wanted to gain a new perspective and a new environment.
Not out of hate.
Truth be told, the strongest feeling I had for America at that point,
that I was conscious of,
was disappointment.
But this koto, this feeling, it wasn't nationalism,
it wasn't patriotism, and it wasn't disappointment.
It was more akin to the feeling you might have about your child.
Let's say your child is -
you know for a fact that your child is the worst bully in the school.
He beats the crap out of the boys in the gym on a regular.
He grabs the girls by their private parts,
and he throws history books at the teachers,
and he steals anything that isn’t nailed down.
He is a bad seed, a bad seed.
But that's your child.
That's your problem child, your fresh and blood.
And you still hold on to this belief, this unfounded faith that someday,
someway, your child will grow up to be a fine and decent human being,
that underneath all that anger, hostility, racism, bloodshed and violence,
underneath all that ugliness, there’s greatness.
And not that "make America great again" greatness but real genuine greatness
just waiting to be unleashed.
So, naturally, naturally, if someone criticizes or mistreats your child,
you're going to take issue with that.
And if someone, God forbid, puts their hands on your child,
you’re ready to go the mattresses! Right?
So, I think it's safe to say that this koto that I unpacked,
it wasn't love - I wouldn't call it love -
but it was definitely something powerful and paternal and protective
I felt for America.
So, now you’ve got this koto; it's laid out before you in all its glory.
What are you going to do with it?
If you're a tourist, you could just ignore it.
You're going home next week; just ignore it.
But you’re not a tourist.
You are a human being striving to build and maintain meaningful relationships.
You're trying to hone a mindset that will behoove you,
that will benefit you,
that will position you for success here in your new environment.
You have immersed yourself in a new culture and a new language.
This is all hard work; it's all complicated stuff.
Funny games are over; the amusement park is closed.
You’re playing for keeps now.
In my case, I knew, I just knew.
There was no way I could just traipse to my new life here in Japan
with this volatile koto on the loose, with this American chip on my shoulder.
Because I had already been living here three years,
trying to come to this decision to stay here.
And in that time,
I had already got a sense of what life is like here in Japan.
And those three students, they were just the tip of the iceberg.
I knew that here, more so than in America,
here I would be judged
first and foremost by my nationality and by my skin color,
and that any presumptions and any stereotypes floating around about either
would be applied to me without a second thought.
So I knew that the key to my success to thriving and surviving in Japan
was the management of this koto,
that I had to make peace with the American in me
and make way for the person I was becoming
by virtue of wrenching myself free
from the overwhelming influence that America had over my thoughts
and my feelings and my actions.
To cease to be a mere American and to become a global citizen
in the truest sense of the term,
which has much more to do with what’s going on in your heart
than what it says on your passport.
So, let’s say you’re a student going to start new school,
or you're moving to a new neighborhood,
or you're starting a new job,
or like myself, you're making a go of it in new country.
At some point, all of us are going to find ourselves on unfamiliar turf.
And unfamiliar turf is fertile territory for koto to make an appearance.
Now, I hope I haven't given the impression
that koto is always bad news; it isn't.
Sometimes you'll find that your koto has been working on your behalf all along,
and if that’s the case, I say let it be.
But if you find that it’s been quietly undermining your efforts
to achieve your goals all along,
isn't it wonderful that we all have this capacity
to liberate ourselves of this stuff?
There’s no one-size-fits-all way to do this.
Some people do it creatively.
They draw, paint, write, make music, DJ.
Some people do it spirituality: meditate, pray, yoga.
Some people find a community or a cause that inspires them.
It’s a very personal journey.
My journey, which has taken me from teacher, to blogger,
to author, to columnist, to activist here in Japan,
to a person of some notoriety,
my journey began with this thought:
What kind of impact would it have
on the negative perception of blackness here in Japan
if I used my ingenuity, my energy, my gifts
to bring black excellence to national attention?
That was the thought I had.
And in that thought gave me a destination.
And once I had that destination,
it seemed that the load I’d been lugging around all my life
had lost some of its heft.
And my mind became open to the abundance of opportunities
that the mere American me might have misconstrued as misfortune
or missed altogether.
Likely, likely your circumstance will be very different than mine.
You’re probably not an African-American living abroad,
shocked to discover he has complicated feelings
about both sides of that hyphenation.
And you’re probably not a black American raised in a hyper-racialized environment,
trying to temper his sensitivity and temper his sensibilities
to an entirely new racial dynamic.
And you're probably not a person who has come to the alarming realization
that you too are capable of prejudging human beings
based on nationality and skin color -
all of which are koto I’ve had to unpack over the past 15 years.
However, I’m sure your koto is equally complex.
So whatever your destination may be,
I implore you to make sure
that your luggage is suitable to your journey.
And if it isn't, unpack that koto, and lighten your load.
Thank you.
(Applause)